


Skewed Mindsets

by lets_keep_walking



Series: Four-Inch Little Shit-Biscuits [1]
Category: Trolls (2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Brangst, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Memory Loss, Poppy isn't in the wrong or right, creek isn't a nice guy, creek's an asshole but we all know that, old tumblr stuff, poor branch, up to you really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 10:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12010692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lets_keep_walking/pseuds/lets_keep_walking
Summary: Branch loses his memory after taking a fall, and when he comes to, he's faced with people he doesn't remember how to feel about.Poppy, on the other hand, does.And a few sweet words from Creek set in motion a plan that changeseverything.





	1. And False Pretenses of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, yo, yo, got an ask on tumblr to post my old Trolls stuff here, yo. So, here ya go. This one's based off of a prompt by [@scootingaround](https://scootingaround12.tumblr.com/search/memory%20loss%20au)
> 
> and wOW was this a doozy to write back then. Wow.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy. Or don't. Go crazy.

Something pounded away at his head. One, two, then it was gone. His mouth was dry, and light hurt his eyes. He blinked quickly and cautiously; something told him he shouldn’t be here. His head acted up again, and on impulse, his fingers flew through his hair to snuff out the source of the pain, but met a knot, sore and pulsing, painful to the touch. He hissed and brought his hand back.

Where was he? He was lying on his back, staring dully at a ceiling that looked like it’d been doused in watermelon.

Watermelon. The inside of it was a slight variation of red.

_Pink._

Something clicked, and it felt familiar, warm. Furrowing his brows, the troll concentrated, searching his galleries of memory to will something to come up, but nothing did. Instead, the treacherous knot began to whine, and his hands curled into fists as he bit his lip.

_Pink_ , he tried to remember. _Someone I know has that color. That’s their favorite, I think._

It was a girl, he was pretty sure. She was loud, she liked singing, maybe had a thing for glitter. Why couldn’t he remember what she looked like?

The room had a pink and white theme to it. There was a nightstand on his right and a lamp on his left. Thick sticks were standing at each corner of the bed, and were connected by another set of them, which then had a filmy type fabric wrapped around them. _Gossamer_ , an accented voice told him when he reached over to touch it. _It’s Gossamer_.

Touching the blanket informed him that it was silky. Grazing the pillows told him that it was cotton. Brushing his own pajama shirt lets him know it was flannel, but when he shifted, his legs felt fleece. He snorted to himself. It’s almost as if two people—

—dressed him. Another click, and he vaguely remembered hearing two people debate about which to wear to sleep. Flannel or Fleece.

_Flannel_ , he began. _One of them said it’s brushed fabric. That doesn’t chafe your skin, and cools you down while you sleep._ Someone didn’t tell that to him. He must’ve overheard it in a conversation. Whoever had been talking was passionate about their point.

_But the other one said that it turns into a static magnet when charged,_ he countered. _That fleece is knit fabric. It’s way thicker and keeps your warmer._ How he knew so much about how two fabrics contrast instead of his own memory was a question in itself.

Tentatively, he slowly pulled himself from the bed, fought the wave vertigo that shook him, and rested his hands on his lap. Nothing about this feels familiar anymore. The duvet was too downy, and the pillows were too plush.

_The bed is too soft_ , he told himself, _and the room is too bright. Maybe the pink girl lives here? Does she know why I can’t remember anything?_

Blearily, he stumbled off the bed and barely managed to catch himself lest he fall. Just standing was a chore; his breath was ragged, and there was a frantic beating inside his chest. He doubled over in an attempt to catch his breath, but that only heaped on his breathing difficulty. Something picked back up on the pounding at his head, and the ground rushed to meet his eyes.

But just as soon as it happened, it was gone.

Someone must have heard his descent, for there were two blobs of color hurriedly barking orders at each other. His shirt was torn off, and a cool cloth lined his forehead. He tried to open his eyes, but whenever he did, a soothing lilt of a voice gently asked him to keep them closed.

A warm hand gently parted his hair, brushed the tight knot, and the pain was so intense that he was sure he’d be sick again, so he gripped the wrist of the hand that had supplied the touch. Almost, as if it knew what he wanted, it left him, and he relaxed.

In an attempt to calm himself down, he slowed his breathing, and tried to ignore the prods and pokes they were giving him.

He wanted to know what they were doing, so he opened his eyes and looked around. Some sort of variation of purple was on his left performing a once-over on his chest, and to his right was—

“ _Pink_ ,” he realized, voice hoarse. On cue, she turned and looked straight at him.

She looked worried, though, and her brows came together, giving her the perfect mask of hurt. Her face crumbled, something glittered in her eyes, and she whispered, so soft his ears could barely catch it.

“Poppy,” she breathed. “My name is Poppy.”

With that, Purple miraculously completed their task, and Pi— _Poppy_ brought him to a sitting position, and helped him into his shirt. While she buttoned him in, Purple began to ask questions.

“What do you remember?” His voice is had an accent. He decided it sounded nice, but didn’t have the heart to tell him that all he could recall were colors and useless fabric trivia, so he shook his head.

“Nothing?” Purple asked. “Really?”

He nodded.

“Well, then.” The voice didn’t come from his side, rather his front, and as quiet and meek as ever. “You should know your name.” She looked into his eyes.“It’s Branch.”

“Branch,” he replied, just as softly. She smiled and nodded.

“Can you stand?” Purple asked, before helping him up. Branch didn’t reply, but complied with Purple’s question. He felt less sick when he stood up, and his heart didn’t overreact. He laid a hand on Poppy’s shoulder to balance himself.

“Good!” Purple grinned, and then turned to Poppy. “Maybe we should take a few test walks outside, see if he’s more stable?”

“Yeah!” Poppy agreed, and for a second it almost looked like she had never been downcast. “But we should be careful, and go slowly. We don’t need to risk another concussion.”

“Of course,” Purple dismissed with a wave of his hand, and then faced Branch. “What do you think?”

Branch shrugged, seeing no harm in a little stroll. Maybe he’d find out why he couldn’t remember anything. With a nod of confirmation, they began.

The sun was hidden behind a thick veil of clouds, and the grass was soft beneath his feet. The first few steps were alarming, and he almost tripped before the two beside him caught him. His feet started and stopped uncomfortably, not used to moving on their own since his being bedridden for who knows how long. But as they walked, what was foreign became domestic, and soon he was pacing just a little past the both of them.

People flocked towards them like bees did honey, and their worry filled faces peppered him with questions he had no idea to answer. Usually Poppy or Purple would whisper something to them, and with a look of sympathetic understanding, they’d leave them alone. Along the way, as something to jog his memory, Poppy suggested Branch to start grounding.

“It means look at something and remember all the stuff you know about it,” she explained. “Maybe it could help you get your memory back.”

He nearly jumped at that. Finally, an answer to so many questions he had racing around his head! And, if he could recall correctly, Poppy wanted him to get his memory back. He saw it in the way her face fell into a mask of heartbreak. He wouldn’t just remember her name. He’d remember everything.

He turned to the ground. It was warm, and green, and soft. He knew that if you inserted a seed into it something amazing would grow, and that he loved the smell of it after a good rain. His eyes swept over foliage attached to a tree.

_Moss_ , he figured. _It always grows on the north side of trees. I don’t think I’ve ever liked it._

Then his eyes catch something in his peripheral vision.

There were two trolls walking side by side, connected by their hair. He gaped, and stopped walking, pulling an unsuspecting Poppy and Purple along with him. When she began to ask what was wrong, he silenced her with a shush and pointed.

“Them?” she asked. “That’s Satin,” she pointed to the pink one, “and Chenille. Why?”

He blinked, then his brows furrowed, honing in on them in silence. When the pink one— _Satin_ spoke, he heard a tiny bit of an accent. His toes tapped, and fleece brushed across his legs.

Another click. _Fleece_.

“Hey!” he called without thinking to the open air, “Which is better, Flannel or Fleece?”

The twins had no idea where the question came from, but immediately called back with their opinions. Satin said something that Chenille must not have liked. She retaliated with something that sound suspiciously like ‘chafing’ and Satin countered. Chenille shook her head, Satin’s volume grew, and the two could be heard arguing throughout the village.

“How did you know about that?” Poppy asked, amazed.

Branch shrugged.

“It just clicked.”

* * *

Days turned into weeks, and with those weeks brought results. Together, Poppy and Creek teach Branch all they know in hopes to get his memory back. He didn’t, but there were times when he was so Branch that it made Poppy’s heart hurt. For one, he was a morning person. Just before the first few rays of dawn he’d get up, head down to her kitchen, and make breakfast for all of them. He didn’t like anyone cutting the crusts off of their sandwiches, fully believing in the fact that the sharp edges in any cut form would hurt them.

“Besides,” he had griped with a mouth full of peanut butter, “it’s healthier.”

He loathed Poppy’s makeover sessions with a vengeance, claiming that his hair was sensitive and didn’t like hair care products of any kind. He’d only stoop low enough to brush it, and that was it. He held a genuine dislike for synthesized music, but loved vanilla ice cream and roses.

But he didn’t warn her about unforeseen dangers. He hadn’t said a word about a Bergen—did he even know they exist? He hadn’t gone to any of her parties, but didn’t smash her invitations, or even throw them to the ground. He just took them and stashed them somewhere. Even she couldn’t find where he hid them.

He had all the traits set up for him to be Branch, but simultaneously teased the edge of becoming someone else. It was either to tell him the truth and have him revert back to his old ways of being a depressed and self-loathing stick in the mud, or lie to him about his entire existence in hopes to give him a better start.

Poppy couldn’t live with the guilt of a lie, so she chose the former, and there was always the possibility that he could remember everything, then she could lose their odd form of friendship that had taken her years to accumulate. There was no point in trying to be deceiving, so she headed over from her room to tell Creek of her plan. She’ had spent plenty of time there already, pacing around her room while Creek watched from her bed.

This was Branch life. That was supposed to be something no one can take from you, even if it was at the sake of being happy.

“It’s just,” she began, and hand cupping her cheek, “Branch deserves to be happy just as much as everyone else does, right?”

“Right.”

“But I don’t want to lie to him,” she pressed. “There’s always the chance that he could remember everything and I,” she sighed, “don’t want to think about what could happen if he does.”

“But you do want him to be happy,” Creek replied.

“More than anything!”

“Well,” Creek began, hopping off the bed, “other than now, when has he been any happier?”

“He hasn’t!”

“Exactly.”

“Are you saying that I should lie to him?”

“Not lie,” Creek said with disdain. “Just bend the truth a little. Have you seen him, princess? I’ve never seen someone’s chakras so aligned before. We could use this for the greater good.”

“Really?”

Her tone was hopeful, and Creek grinned. Hook, line, and sinker.

“Yes,” he answered. Her resolve switched places, and he could almost see the gears turning in her head.

It was only for his sake, she reasoned. And if he had ever regained his memory or find out that they’d been lying to him, he would understand, right? It was a shot at trying to give him something he never had.

“It’s one chance at making him happy, Poppy,” Creek said gently, to seal the deal. “What kind of ruler would you be if you didn’t take it?”

With a tiny nod, she agreed with Creek.

“Alright,” she sighed. “Let’s go find him.”

* * *

He was sitting at the little pool behind her home, his legs submerged in the water, quietly drawing onto the surface. A butterfly joined his bubble of silence, and he raised his hand so it could land. Poppy almost didn’t want to disturb him. He looked so peaceful, so tranquil as he slowly turned his hand, admiring how the light hit the butterfly’s wings.

Was the lying really needed? Or the truth, for that matter? Who’s to say that she can’t leave him alone and get him to make new memories? He’d recall everything at one point, and would just fall back into step with who he had been. Lying to him seemed to bear too many potholes; step on one and the whole thing falls apart.

But then he wouldn’t be Branch if she didn’t act at all, nor would he be if she lied or if she even told him the truth. With a stunning realization, the princess found herself doing something any other troll wouldn’t do; she missed the grump. How he’d reluctantly give in to her hugs when they were alone, actually hold a meaningful conversation with her that wasn’t about her use of glitter or his fear of the Bergen’s, or how he’d look at her when he thought no one else was looking.

She missed him. She missed Branch.

A tiny nudge on her back reminded her of what she was supposed to be doing, and Poppy almost refused to give in.

But wouldn’t it be worth it to see him happy? Would lying for the greater good benefit him?

There was only one way to find out.

Poppy mustered up all of her courage as she walked over to him, step by agonizing step. This would determine his entire future. Her actions would change him, whether she stepped in or not.

She sat next to him, and willed every fiber of her being to stay alert and look like she had a grasp on what she was doing.

“Hey,” she greeted, and then inwardly winced. Was her voice too quiet? Was her posture too shy?

He didn’t seem to mind, or pay as much attention like he would’ve if he were Branch again. Branch would immediately point out the flaws in her act without even looking at her. Her heart gave a tiny little thump.

“So, you’re probably wondering about your memories,” she baited, then waited. Sure enough, he looked up, more animated than she’s ever seen him, and then nodded.

“How did I lose them?” he asked, and then pointed to his head, where the memory-stealing knot resided. “Where did this come from?”

That was the only thing that she didn’t have to lie about. Poppy shifted in place, settling in for a long story.

“You fell off a tree while you were getting supplies,” she began, “and we barely had time to catch you.”

“We?”

“My friends and I,” she explained, slowly.

“What was I getting supplies for?”

It had been his usual supply run for firewood and herbs. Her guess on what they were being used for was as good as anyone else’s, but she had to come up with something.

“You had a rose garden,” she bluffed, and her heart began to beat. “And you told me that you wanted to use the leaves of the tree as fertilizer.”

She prayed that the evidence did not show on her face. She didn’t want him to doubt her at all, so she made the first believable. He did like roses now, right?

It all began with one, which bled into another. She recalled stories of how he had gone to each and every one of her parties, on how he was master when it came to depicting anything into literature, and spouted facts based on things that she barely knew about him. His favorite color was navy blue, he loved June Berry soup, that he preferred older songs, that he was one of her best friends. She felt guilt weigh on her shoulders. She had included that last one for a reason.

She began to talk to herself about her friends more than she did to Branch, completely gushing over them, talking about how long she’s known them and everything they’ve done together, but when she got to Creek, she began to slow. Branch was never friendly to Creek. At all. In fact, before his head trauma, he went on and on about how fake Creek was, about how much he didn’t like him.

She resolved to leave that one alone. Maybe Branch and Creek could learn to get along. But before she could open her mouth to do so, Creek interrupted.

“And,” he added, suddenly materializing to Branch’s right, “we had a relationship together.” His low tone of voice provokes a sympathetic reaction from Branch.

“We did?” he asked, brow raised. Everything Poppy had told him had more or less made sense. This was new.

Poppy barely had time to register Branch’s reply before she popped to her feet and grabbed Creek’s arm, internally fuming.

“ _Branchcouldyouexcuseusforjustasecondbye_!”

She dragged Creek back and behind a leaf, leaving Branch in confusion and to wonder about what Creek had said.

“What are you doing?” Poppy hissed quietly. She made sure everything she told Branch was based off of a fact, no matter how loosely based it was, and Creek had come over and had messed it up! What happened to not lying and simply bending the truth?

“What do you think I’m doing?” Creek asked coolly. “I’m doing what you’re doing.”

“By latching yourself onto him?”

“No,” Creek said it like he was offended. “If he thinks he’s dating another troll, it might give him more of a chance to be happy, and I want to help him.”

“So what if he remembers everything and finds out that he’s hooked with you?”

Creek shrugged and began to leave. “It’s not like you’ve been doing any better.”

His words were so calm and precise that it shut her up and pinned her down under the weight of guilt. She lied to him, to whoever it was sitting by the bed of the pond. What she had done had made it so; that wasn’t Branch anymore.

That little exchange went by so quickly that it barely gave her any time to process what she had said. She didn’t sound like herself in any way, shape or form. Was she actually jealous? Of the fact that it was now Creek who had the advantage of teaching Branch how to be, something she’s been striving to achieve since they first met?

She walked out from behind the shelter of the leaf, willing the hurt to show up somewhere else on her face.

“Hey!” Branch greeted her warmly, sitting next to Creek. He already sounded so content. “Are you okay?”

“Me? Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” she assured. It wasn’t like one of her friends who knew she had been working a long time to get where she was with Branch now held more of an impact on him than she did.

Or anything.

“Cool, so…?” he trailed off, and she knew that he wanted to continue talking to her. That made her feel the least bit of better.

“I can’t tell you too much in one day,” she lied quickly, and pleaded for her eyes to stop getting lost in his easy going smile, “so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated, and grinned up at her. Her heart thawed a little, and she began to question her choice, and—despite the fact that she wouldn’t say it out loud—her friendship with Creek. Even if what he said was the truth, it hurt her, and the look on his face confirmed that he knew it did.

The pink troll told Branch to make sure to take two feverfew flowers for his headaches before turning away from them. Right now, she didn’t want to be in close proximity with anyone, more or less Creek.

_I miss Branch_ , she thought to herself as she began to walk home, hearing an amiable conversation start up between the two.

_I miss him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poppy you don fucked up


	2. Running Out of Patience to Pretend

She could feel her heart breaking from the mistakes she’d been making. This wasn’t how she’d let it end.

The only reassuring thing that came from lying to Branch about his whole existence was that he was still her friend. He still talked to her, still had his sarcastic no-nonsense air around him. He still felt like Branch. But what he’d do would make him heart wrenchingly different. He’d help her with her scrapbooking projects, chat with her friends as if nothing had changed. He would go to her parties, he’d laugh, he’d smile.

And he _sang_.

Poppy had never fallen in love with someone’s voice until now, when she had first heard him sing. It was an old song, pretty much a given, but it choked her up with so much emotion that she had to turn and leave and run to the shelter of home.

It hadn’t even been a week after Creek’s little slip.

What he doing to Branch? Sure she had lied in a desperate attempt to give a little joy in his life, but that was it! She didn’t want to completely change who he was! He was Branch, he was supposed to be grumpy and mean and sarcastic and all those things Poppy had known him for! If anything, she was put off by this ‘new’ Branch and was fully regretting her choice to lie! It was if Branch never existed.

But he making him was so happy! He had a permanent grin plastered to his face, was easy to talk to if not a little sarcastic, and he was—

—sweet. He was sweet. Sugary sappy sweet. If he ever saw someone down he’d grab their hand, twirl them around, and talk to them to make them feel better. It always worked.

Except for on her, but he had something especially designed for that. Too many times he’d see her, head hung and downcast, thinking of a way to get Branch out of this mess, so he’d take her hand gently, and lead her over to his new home. Once there, he’d make a blanket and a warm drink magically assemble itself into her hands, sit down next her, and would just talk, so soft that the wind couldn’t carry it, and so loud that it’d be all she’d hear the next day.

Or if she was feeling significantly down, he’d lead her into a little walk into the forest, and insist that she start grounding.

“It calms me down,” he had answered when she asked why. “Maybe it’ll work on you too.”

The fact that she was in his thoughts as something to calm himself down brought up her spirits just a sliver of a fraction of an inch.

“Um,” she had begun, “there’s a flower. I think it’s a lily?”

“C’mon, Poppy,” he pleaded as he skipped with his body facing her. “Show me whatcha’ got.”

“Alright, alright.”

She turned her head this way, and that, but no matter what her eyes landed on, she could never recall enough information on that subject. A tree has leaves. Grass is green. Staring at the sun is bad for your eyes.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” he offered, falling into step with her. “Just think about the first thing your eyes land on. What is it?”

They landed on him, and she couldn’t bring herself to tear them away. Branch fell from a tree and was bedridden for almost a month. She sat by side that whole time, wondering and waiting and hoping for him to get up. Branch had been an outcast. Branch hated music, thought scrapbooking was a waste of time, that she was annoying. Branch spent most of his time in his bunker, away from the world and as far as away from her as possible. Branch only gave in to her hugs when they were alone, Branch rarely smiled, and Branch was grey.

The stranger in his clothes loved music, and dancing, and singing and hugging by the hour, on the hour. He had this huge garden of roses and herbs and fruits, and loved going to her parties. He had become chummy with her group of friends the second he met them. He had a relationship with Creek. He had no idea Bergens existed, and Poppy was the only one who knew the location of his bunker.

He was Branch.

He _wasn’t_ Branch, and Poppy grew to dislike the firm beat her heart would give when she was around him.

Was this really what she wanted? Was this what Branch really needed? Was he truly happy? Despite the loss of memory, some of the things he did made sense. He talked to Poppy way more than he did with anyone else, even more so than he did Creek, but was he still himself? Poppy didn’t care what name that people used to call him. All she knew was that the anomaly next to her wasn’t Branch. And what she and Creek had done didn’t make her feel very Poppy either. Was _she_ even Poppy anymore?

Poppy wouldn’t want this, no matter what Creek would say to her. Poppy would have told the truth, because everyone deserves to _gain_ their happiness, not have it forced upon them just because the person who did so was going to be a future ruler one day.

And who was she to take that away from him?

She felt slimy, sleazy, _disgusting_. What was wrong with her? She had just coerced a false identity into someone she cared about! She wouldn’t have done such a thing to Suki or Chenille, or Biggie or Guy or Satin or Fuzzbert! What had changed? What stripped her of her own identity?

Having one of your friends land into an almost fatal concussion shouldn’t impact so much onto one person? What would Branch say if he were here?

And now someone else she cared about had taken advantage of that!

Creek was right. It wasn’t like it made what she done any better. But it’s not like he had done the same! He’d done worse! What would happen if he regained his memory and found himself with Creek, someone who she was pretty sure he despised with every fiber of his being? She had lied in an attempt to make him happy, but Creek had taken it five steps too far!

She could lose everything she worked so hard to achieve! She would lose Branch!

But it’s not like it makes a difference, right? She’s already lost him. He wasn’t even Branch anymore, he was just—

“ _You_ ,” she had breathed quietly, much to his surprise. “All I see is _you_.”

* * *

If there was one thing Branch knew about Creek, it was that he was freakin’ _weird_.

After Poppy had left, Creek had dragged him back to his home and introduced him to the ‘ways of Zen’, where being peaceful twenty-five/eight was a main priority. He had this odd comb in his hair that he used to calm himself down, and if he ever needed to go anywhere, he had enlisted the help of a firefly.

A.

Firefly.

And sometimes his talks of aura and positivity were annoying. You can’t be calm and ‘one with the universe’ just because you breathe through your nose in a weird sitting position while droning in a monotone tune, nor can you have some magical aura around you that defines who you are with just a moment of concentration. Everyone is different; there’s no labeling someone with just one color. It’s an array of colors, a whole parabola of hues that use piles and piles of words to artfully describe one person, because you can never truly know someone just by looking at the air that surrounds them.

Happiness isn’t something you find; it’s already inside you. It just takes patience and a steady hand to help you find it. So far, Creek was happily supplying that patience. Just because they had been in a relationship before didn’t mean he was going to force it on to him now.

But he was still weird. He must not like Poppy too much. Whenever she had come over, she wasn’t as bright and enthusiastic as she usually was. When Branch had offered his own attempt at making her feel better, Creek just—

—gave him this _look_. It wasn’t threatening, it wasn’t scary, but it instilled something that chilled his blood, so Branch had quietly taken back the offer, and Poppy had left.

When Creek asked why he wanted to leave with her, Branch shrugged and gave him his standard answer. She said it so herself. Everyone deserves to be happy, and he wanted to help her get that.

That seemed to suffice for Creek, and he leaved him alone.

But the sense of someone watching him would never go unnoticed, whether he was out tending to his garden or even in the safety of his own home. Sometimes, he felt the feeling grow whenever he was around Poppy, and it curled into a fist around his nervous system after her little outburst the other day.

Red had bloomed through both of their faces, and she quietly suggested that they part ways. He didn’t even say thing; she just left, leaving him to contemplate her words, and he was pretty sure she felt worse than before.

All she could see was him. That was what she’d said. Something so brief and simple churned his insides and left him with questions as he walked home. What could she have meant by that?

Well it was obvious what she had meant, but was it really true? Did she like him?

Or did she like who he was supposed to be?

He had been trying his best at being the Branch Poppy had described him to be. He went to her parties, spent time with her friends, and fell in love with his rose garden in hopes of getting his memory back, but it all felt so alien to him. He didn’t have the best time at her parties, it felt like his ears weren’t used to so much sound at one time. Her friends were amazing, but even they seemed a little confused on what Poppy told him that Branch did, and Creek?

He had never felt so unfamiliar with _anyone_. Whenever he was around, there just the tiniest taps of his heart that told him to stay away and maintain a safe amount of distance between them. And that look in Creek’s eyes only confirmed his wits about him; there was something of Creek’s that he’d shy away from.

But Poppy? Don’t even ask about her unless you have an unlimited amount of time to stand and listen to him endlessly list everything he liked about the girl. Her smile. Her eyes. The fact that she almost never went along with his plans ninety-eight percent of the time unless they were seasoned with some of her own ideas. He liked that she was stubborn and that she never listened, and he enjoyed the days that they could curl up on the ground during warm days and watch the clouds.

He loved that little smirk she’d give when she knew she was right, and the flush of crimson that’d burn through her face whenever he showed her something new he had written. He liked the floppy hat she would wear when helping him out with his garden, and how she always manage to smell like the earth after a good rain. He made sure to embrace her just a little longer during hug time, because she felt like rainbows and sunshine and _Poppy_.

He hated how she’d look whenever she was noticeably down, because a little part of heart would pulse. Then he’d come behind her and wrap her in a hug, and he’d feel something warm spread through him when he felt her relax in his arms.

He had never felt so comfortable talking to anyone before, and if he could recall correctly, she was the first person he remembered when he woke up. _Pink_.

She must have been important to him before the memory loss.

But how would he feel if it were revealed that she didn’t care for him in the way he did her? Why was he even worried about what she thought? Sure, the simple curl of her lips sent jelly coursing through his blood and the soft way her eyes looked at him made his heart beat a mile a millisecond, but that didn’t mean he legitimately had feelings for her, right?

Besides, he had Creek to get used to. Who would he be if he led someone on only to leave them in the end?

But he still couldn’t ignore the pitter-patter of his heart when she was around, so he resolved to silently stew over his growing admiration of her from afar.

It was only when Creek started having doubts did Branch get suspicious of their ‘relationship’. That was when he’d get really weird.

This bossy and condescending tone of voice would appear out of nowhere, and Creek would haughtily leave comments on whatever he did, whether it be what and or how much he ate, the clothes he’d wear, and where he’d be during the time of day.

It was annoying, the lack of freedom he had, and Branch grew to resent it. Especially when most of them were Poppy related.

_Why were you with her? What did she tell you? How long were you out there with her? Why were you two gone for so long?_

“Why does it matter to you?”

The questions were too much, and were excessive and needless. A walk around the village shouldn’t warrant such a reaction! Why was Creek so doubting of Poppy? Did _he_ like her?

“I’m sorry?”

“All these questions are annoying. We just went out for a walk,” Branch insisted.

“You sure about that, love?”

Oh, and the nicknames were definitely on his list as a personal bane of existence. They were just, so degrading! Every time Branch would ask him to refrain from calling him as such, Creek’d just laugh like he just told him the funniest joke, and would dismiss it with a wave of his hand, which was sure to tick Branch off. He just left it alone; there was no point to ask when Creek wouldn’t listen.

“I’m sure,” Branch sighed, and then decided to change the subject. “Are you going to the masquerade party tonight?”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.”

And that was the first almost-but-not-really fight he ever had with the guy.

* * *

Parties were easily ways to have a hot pot of disaster brew, but a party that included wearing masks to hide your identity from everyone you know could lead to a maelstrom of distress.

But it was the only way that she’d get to talk to Branch without Creek getting in her way. Ever since their little talk, Creek had been getting Branch to start subconsciously avoid her. Wherever Creek was, Branch would follow, and Creek had taken to make sure that he was never around her.

A party was the answer to her problem, and it wasn’t even hosting it; more bait to get them to come.

While she was getting ready, she made sure to go a little bit farther to change up her appearance. She took her hair from its tail and trimmed it, then turned it neon green. She wasn’t wearing the dress Satin and Chenille had made for her, and opted to wear one of her longer gowns. With a puff of glitter to her face, Poppy looked at her mirror while wearing her mask, and was satisfied to realize that she didn’t recognize herself at all.

The party wasn’t as loud as she was used to, and she made sure to avoid her friends if they ever got close. When she spotted Branch in her peripheral, he was significantly close to someone, and she immediately labeled them as Creek.

Then she bided her time. Creek never to have seemed to leave Branch side, and Branch didn’t seem to have to be having fun at all, always wincing whenever someone dancing bumped into him. Another thing Branch would have done, and it made her heart hurt; she missed the survivalist more than ever.

Eventually, the volume of the music grew, and that meant more dancing, which meant more bumping into people, which meant—

—that they’d be separated. Sure enough, Creek was lost to the sea of dancing trolls, and Branch looked like he couldn’t be any more miserable.

Opportunity came, and she reached for it, ducking the dancers and swerving through the crowd until she reached him.

“Hey!” she greeted, needed to raise her voice so he could hear.

“Hi?” he responded, and she internally cheered. He didn’t recognize her yet.

“You need to follow me!”

“Why?”

She raised her mask just enough so he could see her eyes. His own widened and she grinned.

“Pop—”

She slammed her palm onto his mouth and looked around to make sure Creek wasn’t around. He wasn’t in their proximity, so she grabbed his hand and indicated to follow her.

He was a fast learner. While she dodged and shoved her way through the crowd, he followed, his trained eyes analyzing every move and mimicking them to ensure his own safety.

Then he smiled to himself. He hadn’t seen Poppy around for a while, and was counting on meeting her during the party. When an hour passed and he still hadn’t seen her, he was starting to lose hope and was about to ask Creek to go home when the crowd of people manifested itself into a barricade of dancers. And she looked different! He had no idea who the stranger in the long blue dress was doing next to him, and only had her eyes to identify her by.

When the crazy music ceased and he could look around without knocking someone over, she led him to a tree with thick roots, and ushered him inside.

“I know you have questions,” she admitted when they were safely inside.

“Plenty.”

“First, I have something important to tell you,” she could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and the breath rush past her lips that she knew wasn’t from the exertion running brought.

“Shoot.”

That was when something warm and wet and familiar slid down her cheek.

It all began with one, and she was ending it with everything. It was stupid of her to continue like this, to keep believing that what she had done was for the ‘greater good’. She didn’t care about chakras or mind eyes or being in sync with everything around you! Her heart wanted something, and it wanted _Branch_.

“You never had a rose garden.”

Branch never had a garden to begin with! His bunker was huge, and confusing, and she would always get lost on purpose so that he’d find his way to her, because it was worth it to see that tiny smile that’d spilt him when he did! Everything he had was organized alphabetically, and she loved spending time helping him rearrange everything, because she fell in love with his laughter and the way he’d gaze her at when they were done!

He was a social outcast that didn’t like anything worthwhile because of his irrational fear of Bergens, but he was _her_ social outcast, _her_ survival grump, _her_ anomaly!

She was just a pathetic liar who had changed his life in a silly attempt to make him feel better about his existence, when in reality all she had done was make it worse! Some queen _she_ was gonna be one day!

Branch _never_ sang! He was _never_ chummy with her friends!

“And I’m pretty sure you hated Creek!”

She didn’t take his stunned silence lightly, and resorted to covering her face in shame. Poppy would have never wanted something like this to happen to someone she cared so deeply about. She could already hear the hurt falling into place on his face, and turned around when she heard him leave.

When she turned to face where he should have been, there was nothing there, except for his mask. She took it and carefully cradled it to her chest, not feeling very Poppy at all. Poppy would be so disappointed in her.

Maybe a change was in order.

* * *

His feet pounded against the ground and echoed around the forest.

He’d been lied to. Everything he thought he knew wasn’t true.

Branch was apparently this troll who was miserable for no complete reason and was afraid of these Bergens, so he had this huge security bunker and refused to be with anyone. He’d been taken advantage of, all for some stupid chance at making him happy? What kind of twisted person would even think that was _okay_?

His entire life, laid out and planned for him, all conned just for someone’s selfish desires. He didn’t gain a month long concussion for this! Someone he genuinely cared about had tricked him into a false sense of mind, and for what? A new shot at life?

They should have just left him alone; they shouldn’t’ve even bothered to tell him the truth back at the pond. Maybe if they did he wouldn’t be feeling so heartbroken now.

What happened to the girl who would sweeten his tea with honey because she was using the sugar for an experimental batch of edible glitter? Was her act all a ploy? Was every smile she gave him, every laugh she’d give, and every shade of vermillion that had spread through her face a lie?

He missed Poppy, whoever she was. That stranger in the blue dress wasn’t the girl he had started to fall for. She was already gone.

He stopped running long enough to hear someone else’s feet pad against the earth, and he groaned. If Pop- _she_ was following him, he was just going to tell her off, to leave him alone. He needed some much deserved space from everything.

Though the steps were too heavy, and the mask wasn’t hers.

“What do you want, Creek?” Branch sighed, sitting against the trunk of the tree.

“Are you alright?”

Branch got straight to the point. “How did you find me?”

Creek pointed to his head. “We have a mental connection, love. Are you okay?”

Branch snorted. Was he really supposed to believe that? Was that just a lie too? Who’s to say that Creek lied about his dumb ‘ways of the world’ and his self-discovery and his amateur guru mumbo jumbo he kept spouting twenty-five hours a day, eight days a week?

“I’m not okay. My name’s Branch and I live in some stupid heavily fortified bunker,” Branch began, exasperated, “and I’m not supposed to like everyone and you and me weren’t in a relationship.”

Creek doesn’t say anything, but he sat next to Branch and took him into his arms while he continued.

“—and Branch is supposed to be afraid of these Bergens and doesn’t like music, and, and,” Branch paused, and something misty gathered into his eyes, “and I just want to know if any of it is true.”

Creek nodded, and hugged Branch just a little tighter. She thought she could get away with telling him the truth? Let her think that she gained some sort of victory out of this.

“She lied to you,” Creek explained patiently. “But we did date for a little while, me and her. I broke it off when I didn’t feel the same connection with the princess. She seemed like a nice girl, so I didn’t want to lead her on.”

“That’s,” Branch began, slightly confused. “That’s nice of you.”

“Thanks, but she didn’t feel the same. She’s convinced herself that she’s in love with me, and she lied to you to get you out of the picture.”

That’s an awful selfish thing for the princess to do. He’s seen her. She was never selfish; she never wanted anything solely to herself.

He groaned inwardly. No, he’s seen _Poppy_. _Poppy_   wasn’t selfish. She never kept anything for herself. That aberration with the neon hair was a different tale for a different day.

And if he thought about it, it made sense. He’s seen the looks Pop- _she_ gave Creek; always sadly on looking, always so unnecessarily tense. Her eyes would glitter when he caught her staring, and she’d look away, but only for a little while, before picking right back up when she thought he wasn’t looking.

In fact, he caught himself staring, and some part of his heart fell in love with the color purple. It was such a nice mix of blue and red, and he was so close to him. Hugging him didn’t feel so foreign anymore, and somewhere along the line, as the stars began to blink into existence, he noticed that Creek smelled faintly of blackberries. And it wasn’t just sweet; there was a part of it that turned sour and alluringly spicy, and his senses couldn’t get enough of it.

So when he cautiously pressed his lips to his, he didn’t regret a thing.

* * *

He was in denial.

That was to be expected. What wasn’t predicted was how clingy he was to Creek.

It wasn’t just involuntary anymore. If Creek had gone somewhere, Branch would somehow be missing, and would only magically appear wherever Creek was.

He was different now. It had been only a week after the party, and he was still himself. He chatted with Poppy’s friends. He kept at it with his garden. His arm was still laced around Creek’s.

But he avidly ignored her. Even Creek helped him in that department. Whenever Branch was seemingly alone, Creek would step in with some guru trivia and whisk him away into a crowd. If Branch heard her, there’d be a tiny shake of his head, and he’d walk off.

She was trying, and desperately at that, to get Branch to believe her and believe in who he was supposed to be. She even went so far as to try and show him his own bunker, and that led her and Branch to start fighting.

 _Physically_.

She had yelled at Creek, for being so manipulative, and Branch had jumped to his defense, and told her what she had done hadn’t made her any better.

If she didn’t lose him during the party, then she definitely lost him when her palm came into contact with his cheek. She was done with the lying and the deceiving, but it had already done its job. She lost him.

She was so _unstable_. Who was she, again? Suddenly all her clothes felt alien, and she did double takes when she stared at herself in the mirror, at the stranger in her skin. Who was she? Where was Poppy?

She missed Branch, and found herself missing Poppy too. Where had the girl who would pepper Branch with songs gone? Was she truly lost to lies and unfulfilled promises?

There had to be a way for someone to lose their colors, and she had already lost so much. Surely she should have been drained of them by now, right?

Where had all of her pent up hostility come from? Why did people give her odd looks when she was seen around town? Why did she feel so different?

Perhaps a change was due.

“Poppy?”

There he was, the traitor. Everything would have been fine if he hadn’t gotten in her way.

Her eyes were blank, dull, and devoid of the life Poppy had when she used them, and they were alone, behind her pod, her feet swirling in the pond that had started it all.

“Just,” she sighed; even her voice didn’t sound like Poppy. “Just call me Anemone.”

“Why?”

“I don’t feel like Poppy anymore.”

“Spare me the theatrics, Princess.”

“What do you want?” Anemone hissed. Right now all she wanted was to be alone and far away from Creek. Her heart melted at that. That was something Branch would do.

“Why did you tell him?”

“Because he deserves to know,” her words are controlled, precise. If she was going to go off, it would be on her own terms, not some reaction Creek was hoping to ignite. “That’s his life I lied to him about. That’s _his_ chance at happiness. Who am I to take that away from him?”

“Stop dodging his name and say it,” he sneered. Her gaze turned icy.

“He,” she started shakily, “is _not_ Branch. And he never will be.”

She took Creek’s silence as a victory, deciding to let nothing show on her face. Let him think she was completely broken. Let him believe that Poppy was gone.

“You’re right,” Creek said suddenly, and then his face dropped into a smirk. “It’s your fault he’s not.”

And with that, he left, and took her color with him.

Losing it felt funny. The tingle began from the tips of her hair to the bottom of her feet, dragging the monotone shade down her body, while simultaneously opening a floodgate of tears.

 _Now we match, Branch_ , she thought quietly to herself as choking sobs racked her tiny frame.

_Now we match._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [Anemone](http://www.flowermeaning.com/anemone-flower-meaning/) flower symbolizes forgotten love and affection.


	3. Their Feigning Fading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an (awfully swift) ending.
> 
> Sweet stars this thing had taken me three weeks to get done and I'm STILL not satisfied by it. Fuck. How the hell did I write this??

Something was wrong with Creek.

It wasn’t something Branch could see, more like sense. Creek was quieter than usual. There were no probing questions on why Branch had come home so late. And when he asked, Creek’d dismiss it, saying that he was just thinking.

Branch followed suit, and sat next to Creek on the loveseat.

It seemed like something was wrong with _everyone_. Her friends went hermit and could only be found when they wanted to be seen, and he hadn’t seen her for a little over a week. Something inside him churned, and he agreed with his gut; he was worried about her. In his head, he already knew that Poppy was gone. There was no turning back for her. She had already tipped into the deep end.

He had chosen to ignore what she had spilled to him at the party. What kind of troll was grumpy and unhappy ninety-nine percent of the time? How would he find the time to dig out a huge security unit, fill it with supplies, and manage to burrow adjoining tunnels to confuse potential enemies?

Branch sounded like an awful guy. Did he really smash her invitations? How was he able to do that, and yet have Poppy be his sorta-but-not-really friend? Could one person tolerate so much rejection? And she said that he’d been doing that to her up until his fall. She meant to tell him that for every waking moment of his sad existence, he was to Poppy what she had become? Someone selfish? Someone mean? Did she really expect for him to fall back into that?

And there was no more Poppy! He needed to get it drilled into his head! She was _gone_. Something else had taken her place, someone he didn’t want to be affiliated with.

Right?

And she slapped him. Everyone was so surprised, even her, staring at her own hand like it was the one who had the idea to reach over and strike him. Creek might have gone after her. There was a point in time where Branch had no idea where he was, despite the fact that he was the first to get home.

Did he really go after her?

He recoiled like his thoughts had hurt him. Did she hit him?

“Are you okay?”

Creek pulled out of his stupor. “I’m fine. Why?”

“Did you talk to her?”

Branch didn’t even have to say her name. He already knew who he was talking about.

Creek sighed, clasping his hands. “Yes.”

“Did she hurt you?”

Creek looked at him like he’d grown two heads. “No.”

“What did she say?”

“Not much, I’m afraid,” Creek replied, finger to his chin. “She was at the pond behind her house, but she asked me to leave her alone.”

“Why?”

“She said she ‘didn’t feel like Poppy anymore,’” he snorted. “Can you believe that?”

Surprisingly, he could. He knew all too well how much that felt, and that it was terrible to feel like that alone. No matter how terrible someone could be, you could never just abandon them when they’ve been through something you’re trying to forget. That’s something you should never wish upon anybody.

And she wasn’t the only one who had known that she hadn’t felt like herself!

Maybe he should go talk to her, and make her feel like herself again. Who knew? Maybe Poppy would come back to him.

“I’m gonna go talk to her,” Branch offered, getting up. Sure enough, there was a firm grip latched onto his hand that pulled him back down.

“You can’t,” Creek warned, and the hold on Branch’s arm tightened.

“I’m pretty sure I _can_ ,” Branch countered, suspicious. Creek had been acting a little odd since Poppy’s outburst. A tad more demanding. A bit too controlling.

And Branch didn’t like it one bit.

“You can’t,” Creek repeated. “Her aura is toxic. She’ll poison you.”

Branch groaned. There he went again with his dumb ways of Zen! So what of the magic air that surrounded her was fatal? She was someone in need, and his moral compass would not let her leave his waking thoughts until he headed over and helped her out.

“You know I don’t believe in that stuff.”

“Actually, I didn’t,” Creek corrected. “And why not?”

“Um,” Branch began, wrenching his arm out of his vice grip, “because it’s stupid? You can’t label somebody like that just because their ‘aura’ is poisonous. She was our friend, and she shouldn’t have to know what that feels like!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Creek dismissed, voice still cool and collected. “She doesn’t want to see you anyway.”

“What?” Branch asked, and then promptly got the double meaning. His eyes widened, and he gripped Creek’s shoulders. “What did you _do_? What did you _say_?”

“Touchy, touchy! Nothing much, just the truth,” Creek said, easily sliding his hands off him.

That only made Branch feel worse. What was it with the people he cared about finding ways to hurt somebody else? Couldn’t they all just manage to leave each other alone?

“And that is?” Branch pressed.

“That she lost you,” Creek answered casually.

Something was definitely wrong with Creek, and Branch didn’t like it. So, he got up and left Creek alone, making sure to slam the door in an effort to convey his anger.

What was wrong with him? Where had the sweet guy who would help him with his headaches gone? Was it his fault that everyone who tried to get involved with him left him or morphed into something he couldn’t cope with? Creek was starting to get a little too close into his breathing space, everyone he knew shrank back from him as if he had the plague, and _she_ was slowly detreating by the second! No one was doing a thing about it!

Branch set his jaw, and took a deep breath of the night air. The frigid temperature did its job, and he found his legs wearing a path into the earth, one that led to her home.

What could he say to her that would somehow mend the rift that they had created? What if she actually didn’t want to talk to him, or much less see him? Would she really be that different? Or would he have changed so much?

What was _she_ going to say? Would she run? Would she do something else in an attempt to get him to stay away from her? Or had Creek done something to ensure that she’d disappear? The thought made his stomach flop.

He broke into a run, not even noticing where he was going, just letting his feet take him wherever they wanted to. What was he thinking, leaving her alone like this? How much could she bear before she turned into Branch? Into someone unhappy and grumpy and _grey_?

Why was he so worried about her in the first place? What made her so inaccurate, so foreign?

He found himself missing her. Actually missing her, and not just Poppy. He missed the both of them. Poppy was fun, creative, and carried good-feel vibes all around. Just being next to her made him smile, and he wondered how Branch was able to resist her for so long. And _she_ was just as amazing, in her own away. She was mysterious. Never told the same thing twice. Enticed him with her quiet words and ambiguous decisions, and being with her carried some incentive. She’d reward him with a hug, and a hushed word of advice, and whisk him away, to be alone with her grief.

Something inside him panged for that, and he tried to ignore it. With all the directions his heart was telling him, there was no way to decide which path was the right one, and his head and his heart would argue. Poppy was sweet, but she changed. Creek was nice, but was different soon after their first encounter.

There was no other path to follow except for the one his feet paved into the earth, not led by his head or ordered by his heart, but just by the innate feeling in his gut that felt warm whenever he walked in a certain direction.

An odd game of hot and cold, of light and dark. His limbs knew something he didn’t; they kept moving in ways that were unbeknownst to him, but he still followed anyway. Maybe Creek was right. Why would _she_ want to see _him_?Perhaps she was realizing all the mistakes she made, all the turmoil she had caused. Had guilt overcome her?

His body’s reactions were starting to become grating. Where was he going? There was absolutely nothing out there, and he was probably lost thanks to himself!

He sat down on a nearby rock and groaned. Nothing for as long as he could see, nothing familiar, not even a single—

— _click_.

Something warm coursed through his blood, and his breath was thick in his lungs. He remembered something.

There was a huge boulder across from where he was sitting, but it was smooth. Someone must have carved it out of rock. Someone must have lived there. It was hard to see, and was shrouded by bushes and old leaves and _memories_.

A breath. A scream. His name, the sensation of falling. Glitter, and cupcakes, and upbeat music that made his ears flick. He recoiled. They could do that?

He had someone precious to him, and her name was the equivalent of his favorite flower. _Rose_.

_He never had a rose garden._

He didn’t sing; that killed her, but he had someone who did, and he constantly pushed her away. Poppy. _Pink_. She lived in a pod that looked like it’d been doused with watermelon. Her friends were overly cheerful; he didn’t like them, and he didn’t like—

— _Creek_. He had lied to him too?

Branch groaned, holding his head. What fun did people get out of messing with him?

Apparently he hated Creek, he thought he was a phony, and didn’t trust him with his life. Branch lived in a bunker under a huge rock, underground. He had a welcome mat to make sure she wouldn’t get lost. Wildflowers pushed their way out of the ground in front of the door, and there was a secret passageway should he ever forget where home was.

_She was telling the truth._

And he had left her, just like that, to succumb to grief? Who knew what she could have been doing at that time of night?

He bolted to the door. There was a welcome mat under his feet, and wildflowers were still growing around him. He kicked the door down, and tripped inside his old home. Sights and smells and textures all immediately became known to him. His furniture was minimalist, and the home looked awfully empty.

_She wasn’t lying._

But she had told him that there was a way to get inside through the first floor. All he had to do was look for something that didn’t belong. There were old sinewy roots branded onto the wall, and he followed them. Bluntly, they led into the ground, in the faint trace of a circle. He found that if he applied pressure to the trace ever so slightly, sections of it would crumble away.

And they did. Once the hole was big enough, he gripped the roots and carefully descended into the earth, overwhelmed by the sudden appearance of light.

It was a hollow space, and in the center of it was another circle; familiar. It was his elevator that he had made. When he touched it, then handle was warm.

He shrank back; someone was here.

Carefully, he flicked the switch and mentally thanked Branch for making the lift silent.

There might’ve been a leak though; there was the sound of dripping water nearby.

Branch flinched as the elevator landed softly into the earth. He was right. Someone else was here, and old instincts, firm and known, cause him to curl his hands into fists and be watchful of his surroundings.

Turned out, a troll’s ears act like little radars if they were flicked in the right direction. He took him a little time and patience, but he got his ears to move in at least one direction.

So, Branch was apparently this guy who kept food by the hundreds. He hadn’t been inside the bunker for at least ten minutes when he had counted the fifth storehouse, all non-perishables. And Branch was also the kind of person who had a gym, and an armory. He had a cannon for crying out loud! Did he make that? With his own two hands?

And what about all the other things he had, welded metal, swords, two logs connected by a thick metal chain, what was _wrong_ with this guy? What did he have to be so paranoid about? If Bergens were gone for so long, then what was the need to worry? Especially so much? He was pretty sure that Branch could live without a book on the anatomy of a Bergen, knowing exactly which places to strike to ensure a quick death—

Branch was messed up. Was this who he was before the memory loss? Now he knew why Poppy had lied to him; he would have done the same.

He berated himself. All this time he thought she was selfish and manipulative, when he never knew what she was hiding from him. Now he knew why she didn’t want him to know.

Because once you do, you can never give it back.

The dripping grew, the hairs on the back of his neck pricked, and he felt a familiar feeling in his gut. Someone was nearby.

He hadn’t noticed that he had said his thoughts out loud when an unfamiliar voice replied.

* * *

She had been trying for so long to get him to listen, to sing him the right song, to show him something different with each passing day.

And now they’re at a standstill, and she wondered if he felt the same heart wrenching pain he did when he heard her voice, because it wasn’t a first for her.

She didn’t regret changing her name. If anything, it made her feel better. It wasn’t a fresh start, nor was it a new beginning, more like a change. Her actions had forced her to grow out of Poppy, and turn into someone else.

And, if she were honest with herself, she liked feeling different, and that was what Anemone provided. She wasn’t entitled to always being happy; she would have her off days. Parties didn’t need to be too loud, or too quiet, just enough of fun and safety for everyone to enjoy. She carried around an air of mystery, and marred herself as an aberration, or an anomaly. Either one was fine with her.

And Anemone wasn’t perfect. Not saying that Poppy was, it’s just that Anemone made mistakes. Huge, angry mistakes that often resulted in losing someone she was close to, and that’s what she loved herself for. It was okay, even welcomed to make mistakes, because they made you all the more wiser, and brought new things into your life that you would have never considered had you not changed your mind.

That was how she found herself back into Branch’s bunker and in his supplies.

Branch was actually the sweetest guy she had ever known. She found her old invitations and a heavily bound book full of sappy poetry when she spent the night at his place and had fallen helplessly in love with him all over again. He really thought that about her? The fact that looking at something put her in his thoughts made her smile silly, because it’s just the _thought_. The thought that someone out there avidly thinks about you from a far, but they don’t want to tell you because they’d be worried about how you’d take it—

—wouldn’t that make you feel _something_? It did for her, because the one person that she had spent her life trying to make happy wrote about her, about how happy she made him feel when she did so much as look and smile at him, and it made her feel something warm inside her chest.

There had been no reason to resurface; she just needed to be down there long enough to get her colors back, and besides, she had done her long division; Branch had enough to last him a decade or more, and she had to give him props for that, because that was serious dedication.

His whole life had been about nothing but paranoia and survival trivia, and she wanted that back. She wanted Branch to come over to her like nothing had changed, begrudgingly offer her something warm to drink, and sit next to her while a fire consumed the sticks he’d always bother to gather.

So when she saw him roaming around, she made sure to make herself known and present, because there was something about him, and he was touching and looking at everything like he had _remembered_.

“Someone’s nearby,” he murmured quietly to himself. She told her heart to stop beating out of her chest.

“Maybe you should look behind you,” she replied steadily, still shaky from her episode with Creek. He jumped, and then gave her a fixed stare.

“You!” he exclaimed, whirling around in midair. She fought to keep the smirk off her face.

“I could say the same thing about you,” she provided with a shrug of her tiny shoulders.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been living here for the past few days.”

“Why?”

She didn’t reply, and looked away, shivering. He noticed her trembling, and took a few steps toward her. When she didn’t react, he moved by her side, and pressed a warm hand to her shoulder.

“You’re freezing,” he realized, and something told him to hug her, so he immediately took her in his arms. She didn’t protest, and sighed at the contact. Her skin was rough, and her hair hung limp, flatly pressed to her back. She shivered, and buried her face into his neck.

She was _grey_. Someone had made her _grey_.

“What did he _do_ to you?”

She exhaled, and pressed herself closer to his warmth. “He didn’t do anything to me,” she replied quietly. “No one can make you feel anything without your consent.”

“Yeah, okay, but what did he say?” he asked, rubbing his cheek against her shoulder. He didn’t even question his motives now. All he knew was that he wanted to hold the grieving girl close and never let go.

“Just the truth,” she breathed, looking up into his eyes. “That I lost you.”

And then she tentatively pressed her lips against his.

It was warm, it was welcome, and it was so full of him, of _Branch_. Her hand rose to run through his hair, and she smiled into the kiss when he sighed contentedly. He trailed a circuit from her lips to her neck, back up again, and when his hands fiddled with her scalp, her lips parted and she let out a sound that burned crimson through her face.

He laughed, and left his head lying on her shoulder as she stuttered nervously.

“Calm down!” he insisted, and a tiny bit of him fell in love with the receding look of wanton in her eyes, and the lush scarlet that flushed her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered quietly, tugging at a lock of her hair.

He laughed, and pulled gently at a blush-red ear. “For what?”

“For everything!” she spouted. “I lied to you about your entire life just because I,” she paused, and bit her lip, “because I wanted you to be happy.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well,” his arm laced around her waist. “You’re here too, right?”

“Does it matter?” she sighed miserably.

“Would Branch want you to say that?” he countered. She pouted, and he almost laughed at the Poppy-like action. He smiled, and grabbed her hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you something warm to drink.”

The little trip to the first floor is short lived, and Branch was thankful for the silence, and he can sense that she was too. She didn’t say anything, but she smiled, and a tiny flare of color returned to her face.

He set her down on the couch, and covered her with a blanket from a linen closet. The sounds of whatever he was doing in the kitchen made her feel cozy, and she swore that she felt something warm course with her blood, and she consciously pressed her fingers against her lips, still warm from the contact his supplied, and she burned vermillion.

She kissed him, and he didn’t reject her. He had even reciprocated her actions eagerly, and he’d made her—

—she squealed internally and scrunched her eyes shut. That was such uncommon behavior she had exhibited, and something else he would bring out of her.

“You okay?” he asked materializing next to her with two mugs of something warm. She nodded, keeping up a tiny dreamy smile.

He gave her one of the cups, and sat next to her, just watching, just waiting. She blew on the rim, took a tiny sip, and recited the ingredients out of habit.

“Actually,” he smirked, “it’s not sugar, it’s honey.”

“Really?” she asked, amused, staring into the cup’s depths.

“Mm-hm,” he hummed. “It’s more beneficial.”

She sighed, and all was quiet once more. She wanted to turn to him and ask him about everything. How he was, if Creek was treating him right, if he still felt like Branch, if he got his memory, because the tea she was drinking was his own recipe. Even the honey. She hoped that claiming that the sugar was a key ingredient would get something out of him, and it did.

Did that mean he remembered who Branch was? He would have to remember something in order to get in, right? He didn’t even get lost throughout the bunker!

The question was tipping the peak on her tongue, and she was going to worry her lip off if she didn’t do something.

“Do you...?” she trailed off, and looked at him hopefully. He sighed, and nodded.

“ _Everything_?”

“All of it,” he replied, put his cup down, reached for her hands, and looked into her eyes. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t believe you.”

“Don’t be!” she exclaimed. “I shouldn’t’ve lied to you!”

He shook his head. “I’ve seen what Branch was. I understand why you did.”

“It’s just,” she swallowed, “you were never happy, and I just, I thought I could change that.”

She let go of his hands, and picked up her cup, deciding that she would rather look at something other than him. She shouldn’t have done what she did, and she knew it. She didn’t even know what she wanted any more. Branch, he was gone, and there was no way she could ever get him back.

“How’s Creek?” she asked quietly. He snorted.

“Probably gorging on his ‘ways of Zen’. What a jerk.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No,” Branch dismissed, “but he was annoying. He kept asking all these questions about you and me and the both of us being together.”

She laughed, deep and airy. “Was he jealous?”

“Knowing him?” Branch asked. “Probably.”

“He was one of the reasons I lied to you,” she admitted. He blinked.

“Really? He told me that you were dating him before he was with me, and that you lied to me to get me away from him.”

She couldn’t help a tiny jab at him. “And you believed him?”

Branch jumped to his defense. “Can you blame me? I’ve seen the way you look at him!”

“You mean with unadulterated disgust?”

“You know what I mean, Poppy.”

“I only look at _you_ that away, and don’t call me that,” she insisted. He arched a brow.

“Why not?”

“Because,” she started, then progressively got quieter, “I don’t feel like Poppy anymore.”

He smiled. That was understandable. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t felt like Branch since I woke up.”

“I miss him,” she sighed.

“I miss Poppy.”

“And she misses you too,” she replied, voice cracking. She didn’t offer anymore verbal comfort, and resolved to scoot over to him and cover him with her blanket.

“Hey,” she asked. Her voice was quiet, but still casual. “What are we?”

“What do you want us to be?”

“Not friends,” she began slowly, after a moment of deliberation. “I want us to get to know each other. We have time to figure this out, remember?”

“What’re we gonna about the guru?” His voice was gruff, and she smiled at the nickname.

“We corner him.”

* * *

The plan went like this; Branch would still act like he hadn’t remembered anything and would ask Creek to follow him into the forest for lunch, and she was to follow. Once they were stationary, Branch would give her a cue line and she’d emerge from the bushes. They’d explain what was going on and hopefully things would take off from there.

She wouldn’t like it, but if Creek became violent, she was going to have to step in and give him her two cents.

She was actually doing a good job at hiding, if she did say so herself. She wore a different colored dress and changed her hair dark brown to imitate the trees. She didn’t move when they did, but kept to the foliage, waiting for the opportune moment to present itself so she could strike.

“So,” Creek began airily, swinging a picnic basket in his arms, “where were you last night?”

“Out.”

“Where?”

“Looking for Poppy.”

“Did you find her?”

“Nope,” Branch sighed, popping on the last syllable, and for a moment she almost believed he was downcast. “Maybe she really doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Hey, now,” Creek soothed, grasping his hand. “Remember what we talked about. She’s toxic, you’re better off forgetting about her.”

Insomniac? Go to sleep! Depressed? Cheer up! Alcoholic? Stop drinking! Have your entire life irrevocably changed by someone you still have no idea how to feel about?

_Just._

_Forget._

_About them._

“Yeah,” Branch replied, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “You might be onto something.”

* * *

“So, what did Poppy tell you when you went over to talk to her?”

They had stopped and made camp at the swell of a large hill, and Branch was currently passing the food around. He had no idea where she had managed to run off to, but knew she had to be nearby. All he had to do was wait and stand Creek’s fabricated nature for a little while longer.

“Oh, nothing really,” Creek began, “just to stop calling her by her name, and that you were never really Branch,” Creek scoffed. “Silly, isn’t it?”

“Actually, it’s not,” Branch pointed out, much to Creek’s chagrin. “What did she ask you to call her by?”

“The poor princess didn’t say,” Creek replied calmly.

“And did she lose her colors?”

“All I know is that she got what she deserved,” Creek said simply. “We all get what we deserve in the long run.” He smiled and looked at the bushes. “Isn’t that right, _Poppy_?”

Said princess dropped from the tree in the opposite direction. Branchhissed and went over to help her out. All the while, Creek managed to stay cool and calm.

“How did you—” she coughed out a leaf “—know I was there?”

“You never were any good at hiding,” Creek reprimanded gently. “The color is puce, not chestnut. I’d thought you’d know that by now.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Branch objected, and reached for her hand, “we know about what you’ve done.”

“He got his memory back,” she explained quietly.

Creek stood up, and dusted himself off. How did he manage to not choke on any of the tension?

“So you lied to me, Branch?” Creek asked, feigning hurt.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Creek laughed. “Look at you, you’re getting onto me for what I’ve done, yet here you are doing to the same thing! How does that make you any better?”

“We’ll admit, it doesn’t,” she began slowly, “but it doesn’t make us any worse.”

“So what do you plan on doing about it?”

She turned to Branch, and she smiled. Maybe retaliation against Creek wasn’t really needed. Sure he might have been controlling, but it’s not like she hadn’t been. And Branch had given her a second chance, why couldn’t she?

“We,” her hold on Branch’s hand tightened, “are heading back to the village.”

She tugged at Branch’s hand, but before they could move as far as a step, another grip latched onto her arm and sent goosebumps along her skin.

“ _Creek_ ,” she started, voice low and dangerous, giving Branch a squeeze of reassurance, “let go of my arm.”

“And what if I don’t want to? All you two have ever done is cause trouble and chaos for us, and Branch, all _he_ did was ruin parties with his Bergen nonsense. I saw an opportunity to change that, and I did.”

“Why?” she hissed, voice still low. “You never cared about anything before. Why him? Why _now_?”

“Because,” he growled, “I saw something in him that could better the village, and myself.”

“Are you telling me that for the past few months, you’ve been tricking him just to inflate your already high ego?”

“Only if that’s what you believe.”

“That’s messed up, Creek,” Branch said, disgusted.

Creek shrugged. “It’s not like she’s been doing any better, right _Anemone_?”

She shrieked, fury igniting in her eyes, and gave Creek a good kick to his face, then let go of Branch and tackled him to the ground.

_You really do see red when you’re angry._

“Shut up!” she hissed, voice ragged. “Shut up, shut up, _shutup_!”

Was that the name she wanted it to go by? Anemone? What was wrong with it? It was fitting, he liked it, and he needed to calm her down before she did something she might regret.

“Hey, hey!” Branch detangled her from Creek, a flurry of flying fists and floating skirts, holding her steady. “Calm down!” he demanded when he still saw fire in her eyes.

“Look,” Branch began gently, “don’t let him get to you. Besides,” he pulled gently pulled the same ear from last night, “I like your name.”

That quelled her, and for a second, he marveled at how easy it was to see red flush through her face right after she beat Creek to the ground.

“You’re right,” she realized, wiping something from her eyes, and they quieted. “We should—”

But before she could finish her sentence, the hill they were residing on cracked along the middle, and then split to reveal a wide, gaping maw.

It was some huge monster, about to eat them, and he wasn’t prepared. At all. Now it was easy to see what Branch was so paranoid about. Anemone was the closest to the edge, seeing as Branch had dragged her off of Creek, and was the first to leap off of the creature.

Branch and Creek, succumbing to the forces of gravity nearly fell into the animal’s waiting jaws, but on instinct, Anemone and Branch extended their hair to catch each other, and promptly fell to the side of the monster, watching as Creek and the other supplies fell inside the its mouth.

He didn’t even have a chance to scream.

The two survivors sat side by side, panting and hearts pounding, trying to figure out what’d just transpired before them. Wordlessly, they got up, and wrapped each other in an embrace.

They remained that way for a little while, melting minutes and seconds into heart beats and breaths. Creek was no more, and it was so quick. One second he was goading her on to start pummeling him into the dust, and in the next, out like a light.

Anticlimactic, if you’d ask her, but enough to shut her up and make her think. That could have been _them_.

“Let’s keep going,” she said suddenly, tugging on his hand. He didn’t reply, eyes downcast, and she suddenly understood. Even if Creek was as bad as he was made to be, he had still been with Branch. Creek had still won, even in his death. He had made him happy. Or as much as he could make him to be.

They headed back to the village hand in hand, back to the unfamiliar friends and the odd, fearful stares, and they tell the village what had happened to their favorite guru.

They tried to continue on their normal lives, but it was difficult, almost impossible even. _She_ couldn’t do anything without a sleazy voice telling her that she wasn’t good enough, that she’d lose everything she cared for if she continued, and he kept waking up to nightmares and headaches and lost memories.

They didn’t feel like their respective counterparts at all. They both changed. She wasn’t Poppy, and he wasn’t Branch, but they found something in those changes that brought out the best in them. He was still a hoarder, and roses actually were Branch’s favorite flower. She actually liked the sound of silence, and didn’t go to as many parties as much as Poppy would have.

They were done with all the lying, and the deceiving, and the tricks. He told her about his grandmother’s passing, and she seemed to understand. She told him about her mother’s death, and he brought her close, in a hug that they didn’t bother to reciprocate, but didn’t want to end.

Often enough, if one of them went missing, then the other knew exactly where to find them; Branch’s bunker.

It was hard. It was hard for them to talk about their old lives, about what Branch would hide and what Poppy would try to discover, because they were so different. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Branch wasn’t completely smitten with Poppy.

Branch had her.

With him.

All the time.

_Constantly_.

And he never noticed her. His fault or not, that was something he considered blasphemy, because it would a strong hex to keep him away from her.

They could never go back to being Poppy and Branch, they knew that, but they weren’t bashing each other around for it. They accepted that they were a little bit different. And sure, they were never okay, there were always days when the regret and grief and the hurt would completely take them over, but when that time came, they’d wait. They’d wait for each other to come back to themselves again, because when they got right down to it, that’s all they were.

Creek hadn’t taken much from her though, because when he reached over and whispered into her ear, there was a gasp, a squeak, and bright pink flushed straight through her entire body.

Having it back felt funny. The tingle started from the bottom of her feet to the tips of her hair, and painted a bright shade of red across her face.

“ _Thankyou_ ,” she breathed, admiring the familiarity of her skin, before looking into his eyes. “That’s it.”

She extended her hand, a full blown grin covering her face. “I know what we did in the past was unforgivable, but,” she paused, biting her lip, “I want to start over. Here,” she grabbed his hand. “My name is Anemone. Princess Anemone.”

He smiled, and shook her hand. He had changed his name to something that he could recognize, despite the fact that he had no memories of it. “I’m Timber.”

“Well, Timber,” she replied, bringing him into a fierce hug and repeating the words he had told her only a moment ago. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was the shortest series I have ever written what the fuck.
> 
> All of my Trolls stuff was written in late 2016-Early 2017 so. Wow. Where did I get that stamina from???
> 
> [anyways, come chat](https://chasinthecloudsaway.tumblr.com/)


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